Enclosure
by StrengthLove
Summary: A boy's ambition of escaping the company obliged to raise him and the city in which he has been enclosed for as long as he can remember.
1. Default Chapter

Inspired by events in the video game Final Fantasy VII (Square 1997).  
  
Many thanks to Arafel and Lord Raziel for astute and generous proofreading and   
Dawnwalker for kind word supply.  
  
Thanks to the city itself (Hallesches Tor, Kottbusser Tor, Schlesisches Tor, Gare de   
Nord, Gare d'Europa...)   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Enclosure  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
To escape, to quit his place of confinement; the rooms with the yellow peeling walls   
and the smell of industrial cleaner, the narrow bed in the dormitory, the other boys   
with their sharp elbows and scornful glances. To leave his life of humiliation and   
unwanted solitude, that was his ambition and hope. It sustained him through weeks   
and months of silence amidst a large crowd of similarly aged boys and a loneliness   
which was like a hunger inside.   
  
He was aware that his stay with the academy was charity, a draw of luck along with   
other equally unfortunate individuals. The majority of the children in the academy   
had parents who were employed by the company, they would grow up inside the   
corporate school system and go on to attain indenture with the firm. He was a part of   
a small cadre of children whose parents had died during their time with the company   
and which the company considered itself obligated to raise on their behalf. These   
children were schooled at the academy in exchange for service in the company's   
army upon graduation, considered unfit for performance in any of the other branches   
of the firm.  
  
Distancing him further from the other stipendiaries, he had never known his parents,   
but been raised exclusively by the company institutions in the city. The company had   
never revealed the identity of his parents and he had never had the opportunity or   
boldness to ask. He had merely been told he had been orphaned in infancy and he had   
no choice but to accept this information. Now he was the company's property and   
belonged in the long three-story building used to educate three hundred and fifty   
boys and prepared for the soldierly duties which would begin when he turned sixteen.   
The schooling and the preparation for a military life was not something he resented.   
He accepted the education and even felt at ease with it, but it was the loneliness, his   
inability to connect with other human beings even among a sizable crowd of people,   
the constant longing for companionship which never appeared, that caused him to   
seek new avenues for his life.   
  
He couldn't remember when the loneliness had started, because he couldn't recall a   
time when it hadn't been present. A silent part of him suspected that the loneliness   
was the expression of a deep-seated yearning that was an integral part of him, not   
simply the result of lack of companionship, but a pull to somewhere other than where   
he currently was independently of the environment or circumstances he found   
himself in, and one which he would always feel. But it was also clear to him that   
significant parts of his life were highly unsatisfactory when compared with the lives   
of others. He didn't think he was being jealous of the other boys, of the ease and   
straightforwardness with which they interacted with each other, he merely observed   
that the other boys as well as the teachers had a different kind of interaction with   
each other than any of them had with him, and that that set him apart.   
  
He had longed for companionship so intensely he had fallen ill, but when no   
alleviation of that yearning happened, a dream of escape had slowly taken its place.   
He had long since decided on a destination; one of the small and remote islands on   
the southern continent with their sandy beaches and secretive forests. There he   
imagined life, even solitary life, would be good. He'd spear fish in the island's   
shallow lagoon, roam the forest by day and sleep under the ancient light of the stars   
at night. He might be alone and perhaps starving, but at least he'd be away from the   
scorn of the other boys and in sovereignty of his own life.   
  
His dream of escape, of quitting the place of pain, burned like fire in him, warmed   
him on long nights when he lay under a thin and coarse blanket listening to the   
dreaming cries and mattress creaks of a hundred other boys. It got him up in the   
morning when a new day of solitary silence and sitting bent over the homework at   
the desk in the classroom loomed ahead and it enabled him to make plans for the   
future when hopelessness was close.   
  
He had an old poster showing the long stretch of sandy beach and gracefully curving   
palms of a southern island folded together in his chest, the repository of private   
belongings that every boy had sitting beneath the foot end of their bed and which   
none of the teachers were allowed to open. He needn't take the poster up to know   
what it looked like, he could easily bring it up for his inner eye, complete with the   
paper's white fold lines criss crossing the azure blue of the water and the white   
brightness of the foreign sky. He knew that the poster's vista of a shallow lagoon   
with a warm breeze rippling the surface of the water would one day be his. Beyond   
the beach, the island's forest would be wet and moist and the oddest of animal noises   
would ring through it, but crossing it he wouldn't be scared because he'd know the   
way to the heart of the island; a hidden waterfall and lake in which he'd collect fresh   
water and hunt and play all day long.   
  
He had at first planned to stow away onboard the many ships bound for the western   
continent, to put as much distance between himself and the company as possible and   
then find a way to reach the southern islands from there. The previous spring his   
ambition to run away had spilled over into action. He had finally regarded himself   
old and experienced enough to cope with life on his own and had broken out of the   
compound, eager to realize his dream of escape and forming its name on his lips and   
hands for the first time. He had bolted through the March darkness, exhilarated that   
he had gotten outside the chain-link fence without being stopped, ecstatic of being on   
his own, and had headed for the ship docks. That time he hadn't gotten far, even he,   
with his pride honed sharp by solitude and rejection, had to admit that. The escape   
had ended on a gravel-covered plot storing concrete pipes with a diameter larger than   
his height, pinned up against the rough surface of a pipe trying to stave off the dogs   
they had released for him, waiting for the guards to find him, collar the dogs and   
bring him back to the academy. When he had returned, he had received twelve blows   
on the back with the headmaster's cane for the escape attempt.   
  
He didn't understand why the company couldn't let him go, why it mattered to them   
that he remained at the academy. None of the teachers seemed to be much concerned   
about his presence in the classes and he knew none of the boys would miss him when   
he left. What did it matter if one boy broke out and disappeared on the western   
continent? His guardians' possessiveness was another piece of the puzzle of his   
origins he had never managed to solve. He didn't cared to do so either. He only   
wanted release from the academy and his current situation of solitary life inside a   
distant and merciless crowd.   
  
He had attempted to escape but been caught and forced to experience rebuke and   
humiliation upon returning. But this time it was going to be different. The previous   
escape attempt had taught him the need for preparation and to have climate and   
season on his side. Fleeing in cold and darkness wouldn't do, that was doomed to fail   
from the start. Now he was older and far more sensible in judgment and would find   
another way to escape.   
  
The first thing he needed was light to see by for his escape, even if parts of it would   
take place at day. He had stolen a flashlight from the basement darkroom, dismantled   
it and hid the various pieces among the plastic reels and spattered tanks of developer   
and fixer on the shelves there. One by one he had brought the pieces upstairs hidden   
in his clothing to deposit the little treasure in his chest. During one of the rare trips   
with the class in the city he had managed to duck into a corner shop and buy batteries   
for the flashlight and return to the crowd before the teacher had noticed his absence.   
  
The next thing he had considered he needed for the escape was something to defend   
himself with and for that he had collected a fork from the kitchen. Apart from being a   
weapon, it could double as an eating utensil, so he had chosen a fork instead of a   
knife. A knife would also elicit a much harsher punishment if his theft was   
discovered, so that decision had been easy.   
  
As sustenance on the journey, he had stolen two packets of biscuits from the kitchen,   
it wasn't much but better than nothing. He had hoped other imperishable and   
lightweight foods would appear, but that hadn't happened.   
  
Lastly, he had judged he needed something to carry his supplies in and had tucked   
away a pillowcase from the laundry while drying his clothes one afternoon. Each of   
the stolen items would earn him at least five blows and public humiliation, as well as   
a stunted chances for escape, if he were caught with them. Blows and humiliation   
were common enough, so he feared the latter more than the former. Having his   
chances for escape reduced would be catastrophic, it would mean a protracted time in   
the academy and that was not something he wanted to have happen.  
  
From his seat at the desk in the classroom he glanced out of the window. A red sun   
was about to go down over the compound fence and the harbor cranes in the distance.   
A flock of birds lifted to the sky in the rosy dusk, circling the emptiness between the   
compound, the company's main building that loomed across the street and the faint   
metal silhouettes of the cranes once before disappearing from view. He smiled to   
himself and curled his hands into resolute fists beneath the desk's scratched surface.   
Tonight was as good as any night to break out, it was in the middle of summer and   
warm and bright. He'd make it. 


	2. Enclosure Part 2

Enclosure  
  
  
part 2  
  
  
  
  
  
The sun sank beneath the horizon and the lights out signal sounded through the low   
building. The boys tumbled from classrooms and playrooms into wardrobes and   
shower stalls to wash up after the day, brush their teeth and change for bed, then   
spilled into the dormitories to crawl under the bedcovers for the night. He received   
one hard pull of his hair and a push in the back by someone running past too quickly   
for him to spot before reaching the safety of his bed. There he listened to the boys   
around him slowly fall asleep until all that could be heard in the long room was the   
sound of slow breathing and bodies turning in sleep.   
  
He closed his eyes and willed himself to wake up at four o'clock the following   
morning. It would then still be dark, dawn wouldn't be too far away, but the city   
would be asleep, giving him time to find a hideaway for the day and hopefully, a   
successful escape to the western continent.  
  
Sleep took him soundlessly away, then the world reappeared. He lifted his left arm   
and peered at his wristwatch in the blue darkness. He could barely make out the hour   
hand, it was at four, just as he had planned. A faint, almost imperceptible predawn   
light shone through the curtains on the opposite wall. He quietly sat up in bed and   
pulled the blanket aside, then got on the floor, crawled to the trunk that was   
underneath the bed, opened it and fetched the pillowcase that was inside. He took the   
running shoes standing besides the chest in one hand and quickly moved out of the   
room. Then he was out on the second story landing, walking quietly on the   
mossgreen linoleum, down the stairs, trying not to make them creak. Reaching the   
floor below with its long and empty corridor, he opened and slipped through the first   
door, the ground floor storage room. He touched the switch to the right of the door to   
turn the lights on. The narrow and dim room smelled of ink and paper, the wooden   
shelves covering the walls from floor to ceiling were filled to capacity with   
stationery, pencils, paper envelopes and stacks of notebooks. He quickly reached into   
the pillowcase and put on the gym shorts he had left there and then the running shoes,   
carefully tying the laces into hard double knots. He collected his hair into a ponytail   
with an old piece of twine from the pillowcase and stuffed it down the back of his T-  
shirt. They'd be looking for a boy with long hair, the least he could do was to conceal   
it until he got hold of a pair of scissors to cut it with.  
  
When he was finished, he quickly moved to the window at the end of the room,   
flicked the latch and pulled the window open. He was out in a jiffy, shut the window   
after him, then dashed as fast as he could across the compound, through the gate in   
the wire fence in the direction of the company's main building. There might be more   
people in the streets in that direction, but he didn't take a chance of heading towards   
the docks again, that was the first place they'd look for him. Above him, the eastern   
sky was a discreet green, the prelude to dawn and another sweltering summer's day.  
  
Quenching the sensation of urgency and the need to get as far away from the   
academy as possible, he forced himself to refrain from running and instead walk at a   
fast pace. In the quiet morning streets, the sound of running would attract the   
unwanted attention of company soldiers on duty in the city. No, it was better to walk   
even if it required more time. He hoped to pass for a civilian boy on his way home in   
the warm summer night for a few more hours until the teachers discovered he was   
gone and reported him missing to the company. He had memorized the general   
layout of the city and the main streets leading to the sector housing the air base. By   
using the three tallest buildings in the section as navigational cues, he moved through   
the empty streets in the direction he believed the air base lay. The exhilaration of   
being on his own, of being away from the academy, was only dampened by the   
knowledge that his escape was far from successful yet.   
  
He reached a quiet residential area where the houses were two and three stories tall   
and had small gardens in the front where flowers and bushes bloomed profusely. The   
streets lay in silence under the orange sky, the air tinged blue with the approaching   
day. He passed a low wooden fence bounding a patch of lawn with a rotary dryer full   
of garments. There was a shirt and a pair of pants there that looked considerably   
smaller than the rest and they pulled his eyes towards them. Maybe... He peered up   
towards the house. Yellow light shone through the windows but the white lace   
curtains covering them were still drawn. Through them, he could see shadows move   
inside the house. The sound of a radio broadcast reached him through the half open   
verandah door. The people living in the house were awake and preparing for the new   
day, but if he was fast, they wouldn't see him. He didn't think it would be much of a   
loss to them if he climbed the fence and borrowed some of the clothes that hung on   
the line. There were so many of them.  
  
He opened the low wooden gate, crouched down and hurried towards the rotary   
dryer. The sheets that hung there fluttered, emitting a low flapping noise into the   
quiet morning. He froze and crouched further down, glanced nervously up towards   
the house. His heart beat loudly in his ears and he could barely swallow. But no one   
appeared on the little porch to investigate, no one flung the door aside and yelled   
"Thief! Stop him!" The morning was quiet. Shakingly he drew air and stole closer to   
the thin metal structure. He had washed his own clothes enough times to know their   
approximate size. The pants and the shirt that hung between the sheets and the adult   
clothing looked as if they would fit. He quickly reached up and removed one   
clothespin from the blue shirt, then another, before pulling the shirt down. Then the   
pants, another pin, then one more and then the last keeping the waistband fastened to   
the white plastic line. The thin fabric had dried stiff and stuck to the line. He yanked   
impatiently at the trousers to dislodge them.  
  
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" a voice said behind him. He felt as if he   
shot a meter up into the air and had to work hard to suppress the urge to yell. He   
turned, ready to defend himself against whomever had discovered him. A boy his age   
but slightly taller than him was standing at the gate, supporting a red bicycle with his   
hands, a newspaper tucked beneath one arm. "Those are my pants," he said   
reproachfully, "and my shirt." The boy looked poised but not aggressive and sounded   
as if he was genuinely sad that he was taking his clothes. He had no way of   
responding to the other's query, and even if he had wanted to speak, he couldn't. The   
only thing he could think about was to get out as fast as possible and continue the   
escape. He threw himself around, ready to explode into movement and will.  
  
"Why are you running off with my clothes?" the boy asked. Hit by a lightning bolt of   
annoyance, he stopped. Why? That had to be obvious. Couldn't he really see he was   
a fugitive and needed new clothes to hide in? Angered, he turned towards the other   
boy.   
"It's obvious, isn't it?" he whispered hoarsely. "I don't have any of my   
own." The boy blinked for a moment, taking the reply in, then nodded towards him.  
"Yes you do. You've got a T-shirt and a pair of shorts. That's clothes."  
"I need some other ones," he muttered hesitantly, taken aback at the reply,   
wondering what he had gotten himself into by answering the stupid question instead   
of running away. He had to get away from this boy and continue.   
  
"Can't we trade?" the boy asked, setting his grey eyes on him. He couldn't believe   
his ears, trade? Exchange clothes? Was that how people in the city did things? Well,   
if he had to go along with it to get away, he'd do it. He forced himself to relax, shut   
down the impulses that screamed he had to flee and nodded.  
"All right," he said. "Let's trade then." The other boy returned his nod.   
"Good. Give me your T-shirt and shorts and I'll let you have the shirt and   
pants." He nodded and pulled his sweaty and moist T-shirt up from the shorts and   
pulled it over his head.   
"It's not clean," he quietly apologized as he handed it to the boy.  
"Mom will wash it for me," the other said unfazed. He pulled the mud   
spattered black cotton shorts down and stepped out of them.   
"They're not clean either," he muttered as he handed the garment to the   
stranger. The other took it with a pinch and grinned.  
"They stink!" he said, wrinkling his nose and laughing, but his eyes held no   
malice, only humor and mischief. He lowered his hand, met the other boy's eyes and   
laughed too, there was something irresistible in the other boy's humor, even though   
he didn't find the situation particularly funny.  
  
"I do hope you'll like my stinking pants," the boy said nonchalantly and   
leaned against his bike.  
"I thought you said they were clean?" he asked and grinned. The other   
laughed his easy laugh again.   
"They are. I was just joking. Put them on so I can see if they fit." He   
hesitated, why did the other boy want to make sure of that?  
"Go on," the boy insisted. "Put them on so I can see how they fit and I'll let   
you go afterwards." He bent down, pulled hard at the fabric to get it past his shoes   
and further up around his hips. The trousers were a bit loose in the waist and hung in   
folds over his shoes, but they stayed on.   
  
The other looked at him, obviously not knowing what to say now that he had gotten   
things his way. He wondered if the boy was changing his mind about letting him go.  
"What's that?" the boy asked, pointing at the pillowcase drooping in his   
hand.  
"Just my things," he replied. "What I need..." He trailed off, not wanting to   
reveal more.  
"What do you need it for?" the other inquired. He looked down. What   
should he say?  
"I'm just... taking it home..." he said unsure of how that sounded and not   
able to think up anything more.   
"Where's that?"   
"Home?" He asked while thinking hard, throwing up section names of the   
city in his mind.  
"Yeah, do you live far from here?"  
"I..." he swallowed. "...I live right by the air base, I'm just on my way   
home."  
  
The boy had a few other questions he wanted answered before his curiosity was   
stilled. He told him his clothes had been stolen while he was swimming in the pool in   
the section three park and couldn't return home without them, since his family   
couldn't afford to buy new clothes. He said he had been searching for the clothes all   
evening and had had to spend the night in the park because it had gotten late, which   
was why he was returning home at dawn. It wasn't that far from the truth after all, or   
at least truth as he saw it. He didn't have any money and therefore couldn't buy new   
clothes, and he was poor. A few omitted details didn't matter in this situation. When   
he revealed to the other boy that his parents didn't have much money, a strange   
expression passed over the other's face, a look of surprise instead of the taunting   
humor he had expected.  
  
"Would you like to come in for breakfast?" the boy asked. "I usually have   
cornflakes and milk in the morning, but I could always find something else for you."   
Surprised, he didn't know what to say at first, but suddenly aware of his empty   
stomach and tired body, he accepted the invitation.   
  
The interior of the house revealed a kitchen through which a cooling draft from the   
open windows billowed under a warm yellow light. Friendly adults came and went in   
the small room, two young siblings played in the living room outside. The kitchen   
was soon filled with the clean sound of cutlery against china and low, calm voices.   
He ate the food the family offered and felt grateful for it. He was hungry but it was   
the experience of eating bread and meat and vegetables different from what he was   
used to that persuaded him to accept their meal without modesty. The boy's world   
was full of familial intimacy and humor, which came as a surprise to him. He hadn't   
expected the father to be teasing his son and the son laughing and handing the jokes   
back with added zest. Seeing the ease with which the boy's family related to each   
other and comparing it with his own willful inflexibility and bitterness, he felt cowed   
and humiliated. The difference in demeanor and attitude between the family and   
himself only emphasized his status as a stranger. When the sensation of being an   
outsider grew unbearable, he thanked them for the meal and rose to leave, blaming   
the approaching day for his retreat.   
  
The boy followed him outside, glancing curiously at him under his brown bangs and   
clearly wanting to ask him about the location of his home and family but stopped by   
a sense of discretion. Not knowing how to still the other's curiosity without putting   
him and his family at risk from his powerful pursuers, he evaded the boy's searching   
eyes and retreated into quietude and self control. He promised to stop by later, maybe   
the day after tomorrow, if the weather was nice and he returned to the section three   
park for another swim (a lie but not one he deemed to be injurious) and passed by the   
house. The other's face lit up at the possibility of meeting again, and he couldn't help   
but wonder why. The other offered warmth and straightforwardness while lies and   
disappearance were his only gifts. Saddened, he turned away from the boy and the   
house and the curtains that moved silently in the dawn breeze and reentered the blue   
light of the city. 


	3. Enclosure Part 3

Enclosure Part 3 of 4  
  
  
  
  
  
  
He walked for an unknown length of time, thinking it would be futile to check the   
watch since distance could not be measured in time when he only vaguely knew   
where his destination was. He had to walk by sensation and intuition, not by logic or   
knowledge.  
  
The sun peered glowing and orange over the rooftops in the distance when he arrived   
at the four-lane motorway that circled the perimeter of the city. Across the street,   
behind a tall chainlink fence, he spotted the dome shaped buildings of the air base, as   
well as the air base's main gate. He could see the gate was closed, it was still early in   
the morning and began following the motorway to look for another way in. Adjacent   
to the northern side of the air base and fully accessible, was a large park, he   
remembered seeing it on the city maps, a dark blotch of green surrounded by the grey   
and white of buildings and roads. Now he could spot the park's modest entrance, a   
low gate of vertical steel bars sitting in a similar-looking fence on the other side of   
the boad road. He promptly crossed the empty motorway lanes to seek shelter in   
the park.  
  
The park was empty this early in the day and he wasn't sure if there would be many   
more visitors either, being situated near the edge of the city. He had a vague memory   
of having been in the park as a young child, on a picnic with other children and   
adults, and the park filled with people at that time. But now it was empty and quiet.   
Perhaps the picnic had taken place during one of the spring festivals? He couldn't   
remember.   
  
The park had no planted flowers or trees, it was simply a large patch of freely   
growing trees and bushes, a small forest in the outskirts of the city. The area closest   
to the entrance was a grassy clearing with wooden benches and small depressions in   
the ground, shallow pits dug for campfires and barbecue coals. In the south corner of   
the clearing was a grey one-story building. If his memory was correct, the building   
housed toilets and water taps and was freely accessible and unguarded. He quickly   
approached the small building and entered its doorless entrance. Across the small   
room, the tile-covered wall contained a row of metal sinks. To the right was a row of   
toilet stalls. He walked up to one of the sinks, turned the tap and watched clear water   
spatter out of the pipe in short uncertain gushes before turning into a steady and clear   
stream. He eagerly bent down to slake his thirst and enjoy the sensation of cold water   
on his lips.   
  
Sated, he straightened his back, left the building and continued deeper into the park.   
The clearing gave way to forest where the sun's rays filtered through the dense   
bodies of broad firs. As the dawn turned to day, the color of the light grew more and   
more golden. He walked until he was overcome with sleepiness. He took the chance   
that the inner areas of the park saw few visitors even this time of year and lay down   
on a patch of moss on the chilly ground, curled up around the pillowcase and fell   
asleep, exhausted after the long walk and the nervous tension of being on the run.   
  
He woke by the sun shining into his eyes, turning his inner world into a blazing   
white. He looked around and blinked, momentarily blinded. The day was full and   
golden light illuminated the forest. The world smelled of dry grass, wood, and   
decaying undergrowth. The sun was warm enough to make him feel comfortable,   
quickly fading the chill in his body. He could hear voices but they were distant and   
faint. There must be other people visiting the park but not venturing far away from   
the benches and the barbecue pits near the entrance. If he was stopped and asked, he   
could always claim to be a truant taking the day off in the park, but chances were he   
wouldn't be found in here, too far away from the clearing for most visitors' liking.   
  
Calmed by the absence of people, he lay down and watched the busy life around him,   
the flies and bees humming past, the movement of small brown birds in the trees   
overhead. A beetle with a green iridescent carapace and waving black antennae   
landed on the back of his hand and folded its wings down with a quick flicker.   
Frightened by the sensation of warm skin beneath its feet, the possible sign of a   
predator, the beetle hurried across his wrist and disappeared into the rotting leaves.   
A tiny animal, he wasn't sure whether it was a shrew or a mouse, moved in the   
undergrowth a few meters away and darted into the green shadows when he leaned   
forward to peer at it. A row of ants with their backs shining like obsidian marched   
past him on the ground, their number high enough to have created a tiny path in the   
mat of fir needles that covered the ground. He watched the active and neverending   
yet distant life of the forest, in which he was an ignored stranger, with bemused   
interest and an increasing sense of freedom, before falling asleep again.   
  
He dozed through the day, not daring to hope his escape would advance but   
nevertheless expecting it, vascillating between tense doubt of completing the escape   
and the deep-set need to believe that he would succeed, until the chill crept back into   
the shadows beneath the firs. When the distant voices and sounds of people had   
vanished into the slow dusk, he rose, brushed pine needles and yellow leaves away   
from his clothes and walked back to the clearing to drink more water and use the   
toilets. He took the chance of sitting down on the bench nearest to the one-story   
building, broke the seal of one package of biscuits and nibbled at a couple of the hard   
biscuits, keeping a steady watch for people. Then he returned to the forest, didn't   
walk as far into the park as he had done earlier in the day, but turned right in the   
direction at which he believed the air strip lay.  
  
After a short walk, he spotted the air base tarmac between the trees and followed it   
back towards the front gate until he reached the hangar area he had seen from the   
entrance. By approaching from the forest, he was now within the chainlink fence   
bounding the air base entrance. Remaining inside the forest, he inspected the hangar   
lot. The cluster of domes lay scattered on an oblong of black asphalt covered with   
yellow lines and direction markings and was continuous with the runway itself. A   
narrow lane of short-cropped dry grass separated him from the runway and the   
hangars. Beyond the hangars in the direction of the main gate lay the air base office   
buildings and the departure hall for commercial flights, but they were far away and,   
he assumed, would soon be closed for the night.   
  
The hangar lot was empty and quiet and while he watched, lights went out in the   
distant office buildings and floodlights lit up the domes and the runway in the purple   
dusk. He focused his determination and ran across the grassy patch and onto the   
black surface, heading for the nearest hangar. When he reached its metal wall, he   
stopped to listen for the presence of other people. Behind him the steel surface of the   
wall was covered with condensed moisture which wet his hands and the back of his   
shirt. His heart beat loudly in his ears and he struggled to ignore the loud sound.   
When he was certain everything was quiet, he walked around to the short side of the   
hangar. A human-sized door was embedded in the enormous main doors. He tried its   
handle but the door was locked. He turned and quickly scanned the lot. No one in   
sight so far. He kept to the back of the hangar and approached the building further   
down from the forest. There was another door in the short wall there and it opened to   
let him in.   
  
The hangar was an emptiness of still cold air forming a microclimate of its own   
despite being indoors. Through the darkness he could make out the faint outlines of   
the steel bodies of two planes, an unknown light source glinting off their smooth   
surfaces. He closed the door behind him and kept his back to the wall, moving further   
into the hangar before darting towards the nearest plane. He reached the plane and its   
large front wheel and began looking for a way in. When he ducked beneath the wing   
he spotted a staircase in the darkness ahead. It must have been used by technicians   
working on the plane. After some groping, he found the first step and gingerly began   
climbing the stairs to reach the door in the side of the fuselage. But suddenly the   
noise of the front door opening rang out into the chill.   
  
He rushed forward to the door and tried it, but it was locked. Overhead lights flashed   
on one by one and caught him in their brightness. He spun around and saw one, two,   
four soldiers dressed in the company uniform pile through the main door while they   
shouted at him.   
  
He jumped down on the floor, gritted his teeth against the pain that shot through his   
ankle as he landed awkwardly, threw the door that had admitted him open and rushed   
out into the warm darkness. Behind him sirens began to scream into the air as the   
base's alarm system was activated. He squeezed his eyes shut against the loud noise   
and dashed towards the next hangar, but ended up rattling desperately at the door   
handle, another door that as intensely as he wanted, as strongly as he needed to have   
it open so he could slip inside and get away, remained closed to him. There was no   
other option but to turn and run. 


	4. Enclosure Part 4 of 4

Enclosure Part 4 of 4  
  
  
  
  
  
  
He was back at the docks, flashlights and dogs and stomping feet chasing him. The   
day had been so peaceful and now everything was spoiled, the quiet morning, the   
warm day, his hard-earned hope for freedom. Now they were there again to take   
him back to the academy and the daily hell of hatefully slitted eyes, scornful   
smiles, sharp elbows, ruthless hands and months of unending loneliness. No! It   
wasn't going to work this time, they'd never get him alive, he couldn't go back, it   
would kill him. How many weeks, months, years like that? An endless string of   
similar days and identical torment until he reached sixteen and could get away. He   
couldn't take it. It would be better to die than to go back. He pushed the pain of the   
twisted ankle to the back of his mind and ran, starting out on the drawn out   
distance of runway and chainlink fence to try and slip back into the park and from   
there, to the endless streets of the city. It didn't look as if the city would let him go   
tonight, now his only option was to try and sink into it.   
  
He heard his feet beat a fast rhythm on the black runway surface, but felt nothing,   
not even his legs as they pounded the ground, sensed little else but flying fast   
across the asphalt. He could hear the dogs now, he knew they'd bring them. He   
turned his head and saw five canine shapes rushing towards him from the long   
darkness of the tarmac, red tongues slapping against their chins, heads low, a pack   
of hunting dogs out for prey. Desperate, he veered to the left, to the edge of the   
asphalt to enter the forest. But he realized he wouldn't get far before the dogs   
caught up with him there in the thick undergrowth, they were too fast and he much   
too slow. He quickly changed his tactic, first priority now was to get away from   
their slavering jaws.   
  
A lone plane parked on the side of the tarmac rose up in front of him, its broad   
body having a peculiar silver surface he had never seen on any other plane. The   
runway xenon lights burned blue in the smooth metal. He passed the front wheel   
and approached the two black propellers sitting at the front of the wing. Desperate,   
he took hold of one propeller, got one foot on the lowest blade, swung himself up   
in front of it and scrambled up on the wing, surprised he had managed to get up   
there. He quickly glanced down to the ground, the dogs were assembling at the   
front wheel, baying and circling and waiting for their masters. He turned around,   
continued in the only direction that was open to him. He ran across the broad wing,   
his reflection a dark form in the small oblong windows staring out at him. His   
advance barred by the oblong cylinder of the plane's body proper, he stopped for a   
moment, mouth dry and heart pounding, chest constricting painfully under his   
ragged breath. He heard them approach the plane with vehicles, following the   
dogs, the company soldiers hunting for him. Higher, he would have to get higher if   
he wanted to get away. He punched one of the small windows in front of him,   
shattering it into jagged shards of transparent plastic. When he pulled his hand   
back from the broken surface, the sharp sensation of pain flashed through him. His   
wrist came away red, the remains of the window having sliced him after all. He   
clenched the bleeding hand against his belly and used the other to brush aside the   
pieces of plastic left in the window. He placed one foot in the window frame and   
put his hands on the roof of the plane. He pulled up, crawled onto the roof and   
rolled over on his back, finally having gotten as high up on the plane as he could.   
  
He closed his eyes and lay still to catch his frantic breath and pounding heart. On   
the ground, the dogs were barking. What wouldn't he have done to quiet them, in   
any way possible. But he had no way of reaching the dogs or stopping their   
masters, no way of imparting his will onto a merciless world. He held his bleeding   
hand up in front of him, fast flowing rivulets of blood were trailing down his wrist   
towards the elbow. Pressing his hand against the shirt, he gasped with pain and   
rolled some of the blue fabric around it as temporary dressing. He breathed and   
swallowed. The plane metal felt cold beneath his shoulders and buttocks. So this   
was where it ended? Instead of in a concrete pipe at the docks on a foggy night, his   
flight this time ceased on the back of a plane, dogs barring his further advance then   
as now. How ironic it was, he had planned to escape by air and here he was on a   
plane, unable to get further.   
  
Now he heard the slamming of car doors, footsteps and voices below, they were   
coming for him, determined to bring him back. To hell with them all. He blocked   
the sounds of his arriving captors out and fixed his gaze on the night sky. The glare   
from the runway lights and the haze of the city's summer smog made stargazing   
impossible, but he knew the stars were somewhere above him. He took a moment's   
comfort in knowing they were there, just as he knew they'd be at the southern   
continent, far away from there, before returning to the merciless present. Now   
what? What should he do now? He couldn't run any further and he couldn't go   
back.   
  
Someone called his name, thickly, an amplified voice sounding like a radio with   
poor reception. "We know you're there!" the voice bleated. "Please show yourself!   
We just want to talk to you!" The voice almost sounded apologetic in its insistence.   
He scrunched his face in despairing rage. Why couldn't they let him be? What did   
it matter if one boy out of a hundred and fifty got away and got lost somewhere on   
the southern continent? Why couldn't they just let him go?  
  
He rolled onto his stomach, then rose unsteadily in the breeze.  
"Come down!" someone yelled, lights swirling in the darkness. Down   
there, the teenaged company soldiers were moving around, clearly unsure of what   
he would do next. He walked closer to the plane's nose and peered down to the   
ground. It was a frighteningly large drop, but he couldn't turn back now.  
"Leave me alone!" he shouted to their jittery, searching flashlights and the   
darkness beyond. "I'll never go back!" Spreading his arms, he walked closer to the   
plane's edge. Behind him he heard someone step onto the roof to take him back.   
As he suspected, they didn't listen. They had never listened because his voice was   
not important, only theirs; he could only bend to their will. But his time of   
obedience was over. He closed his eyes and with a heart that beat feverishly inside   
his chest, he threw himself from the metal edge into a dark and silent embrace.   
  
He woke two days later, back behind the yellow peeling walls and the tall   
chainlink fence, inside the smell of industrial cleaner, occupying a narrow bed in   
the school infirmary. One by one his teachers came to see him, their voices shrill   
with reproach for his selfish ingratitude and pointless willfulness. They informed   
him that he had been monitored throughout the escape and that it had been nothing   
but a test of his military talents and usefulness for the company. He would not be   
allowed any more such liberties, he was their property. His life was theirs, not his   
own.   
Mortified and violated, he closed himself to their voices until they had   
finished chastising him. Finally alone, he considered the endless plain of lonely   
days ahead of him and the longing that would now go unanswered, realizing he   
wouldn't get away, that escape would never come, no matter how hard he tried,   
and wept silently and despairingly into the pillow. 


End file.
